Armies of the Damned
by Hiding
Summary: A new power rises on the borders of Faerun following a dark patron and with a sinister plan. D&D in a somewhat different way as the heroes are not alone saving their homelands.
1. Default Chapter

Chapter I. Grim Tides.  
  
Saltmain was for the most of it quite an unremarkable city. As most cities it was located in a defensible location, a low hill near a lake. It was filled with typical low buildings hanging over narrow, dirty streets beginning at one of the four gates and ending in the city square. Five meter high walls flanked with towers surrounded it, protecting the city from the outside, though clearly it wasn't needed for a long time as a smaller town grew in the shadows of the walls. A palisade has been erected surrounding the new city and the foundation of a new wall had been built.  
What made it different from other cities was that it was one of the richest cities in the whole dukedom. Its' name came from the rich salt mines that was its source of wealth. As the city was almost twenty leagues from the sea it was the cheapest source of the very important product for the surrounding area. Which of course meant that a number of rich merchants lived in the city, a large mass of craftsmen and miners and of course thieves.  
  
'See anybody interesting?'  
  
The man that the woman addressed looked at the crowd for a while before nodding,  
  
'See that fat bloke in the dark red coat, I'd figure he could share a penny or two.'  
  
The woman looked for a second before nodding, immediately after her confirmation she commented,  
  
'He's got a bodyguard.'  
  
'A very wise thing to, with all the thieves in town.' – he smiled roguishly and continued speaking, - 'I'll go see if I can help him with that weight he must be carrying. You go around and see if you can find anything interesting Anita.'  
  
'Will do Sig.'  
  
Anita smiled before disappearing in the crowd. Sig not wanting his prey to escape him did so as well. The man moved quickly into the crowded square though it was crowded he moved with little trouble always keeping an eye on the red-clothed man. Whenever his target stopped Sig stopped as well, pretending to be interested first with a copper pan, later with fish of doubtful freshness and numerous other items. All the time he was moving closer to his target waiting for an opportunity. It came in the form of a beggar who nearly jumped on the red dressed man. The bodyguard moved to push the beggar away leaving the merchant unwatched for a second. Stepping quickly behind him Sig produced a small knife, cut the strap holding a purse in place caught it neatly and with an expert's confidence felt coins through the leather. Before the bodyguard got rid off the beggar Sig was long gone.  
  
The sun was beginning to set when the two thieves met in one of the streets leading away from the city square. Not wishing to spend too much time in the open they began walking towards their inn where they would be able to peacefully go through their loot. They barely got five meters before their way was blocked. Three men with hoods up were definitely blocking their way. Sig glanced at Anita who nodded, the way back was also blocked. One of the hooded men indicated with his hand that they were to head into a alley. Sig waited for a second weighing out their chances of breaking through, he glanced at Anita who shook her head. Sighing he allowed himself to be escorted into the alley. Three other hooded men stood there flanking an individual in black clothes, his hood was down presenting a nice enough face, though his eyes were cold as a night in Icewind Dale and his smile was anything but friendly, more like a "You're in deep seth and I'm going to take joy in your trouble" smile. Immediately when the duo stopped walking he began speaking in a business like manner,  
  
'I'm a representative of the local thieves guild. You two were working in our district. Now there are three ways we can settle this matter. One: You give up all your possessions and leave town immediately. Two: you give us your loot and join the guild and work for us. And lastly we cut your throats and take your possessions.'  
  
The hooded men were keeping their hands on their weapons through the whole speech, one or two were playing with their knives. Sig got a bad feeling about the favored method.  
Raising his hand he wiped his brow with the back of his glove he made a flicking movement as it came down, Anita sighed but he knew she would be ready.  
  
'I am most sorry for the intrusion of your terrain, if we would have known we would have refrained from working here. And I promise that we will leave the city immediately after we settle this business. However, a problem arises as we need the money and we cannot relinquish it all, though I'm sure that we can cut a deal.'  
  
As he was talking he began rubbing his shoulder and slipped two fingers under his hood. The thugs looked at each other somewhat confused by their "clients" eloquence. The black hooded thief merely sneered and he opened his mouth to say something, all that came out was a gasp. A knife thrown by Anita hit him in the neck right below the jaw. Before he fell she leaped forward, two daggers in hand. One of the thugs that stood in front of her was slashed across the neck, another that was looking shocked at his boss's body falling to the ground was likewise hit with a small knife in the neck, courtesy of Sig. Before he fell Sig rushed past him and followed Anita down the alleys leaving the seven living thieves shocked, though it didn't take much time for them to gather their senses and start chasing them. Sig soon caught up with Anita who looked back and seeing the chase party winked at her partner and sprinted into a left alley while Sig continued straight. They took some time after arriving to the city to get some bearing in the labyrinth of alleys. It was supposed to help them escape if they would be chased, though now Sig wondered if their interest in the alleys didn't catch the local thieves' attention. Though soon he was too busy ducking in alleys, jumping over litter and generally trying to lose his chase to think about such matters.  
  
Peter was bored. Guard duty on the palisade was often seen as punishment, or duty to be assigned to the newest recruits. Peter took ten steps, turned around and walked another ten steps before turning around. The only thing breaking the monotony of watch duty so far was a heated argument in the "new" city caused by a woman pouring waste on a passerby. He stopped for a second looking at the treeless area surrounding the palisade. He sighed, straightened his blue and white tunic, hefted his longbow on his arm and was about to resume his pace when something caught his attention. The road was now empty as the group leaving the city had already passed. The red sun had almost entirely set making the world seem gray. That probably was one of the reasons why he didn't notice the man that was riding to the city at break neck speed earlier, the rider was constantly whipping the horse to make it run faster. Looking towards the horizon he noticed something else; smoke.  
Andrew, one of the other guards assigned to the palisade walked up to him and asked what was wrong. Peter didn't answer, instead he leaned forward and blocking the sun with his hand looked at the horizon, a black shape was there moving towards the city.  
  
'Sacred seth.'  
  
Not listening to Andrew, Peter pulled his horn and blew. Elsewhere other guards noticed the same thing and also began blowing their horns. Soon temple bells began ringing. Guards from nearby barracks swarmed onto the palisade. The dark shape slowly changing into a dark mass drawing closer to the city as the sun shifted lower behind the horizon. 


	2. Baptized in blood

Chapter II, Baptized in Blood.  
  
The city mayor, Karol Gryfline, was sitting to dinner when the horns were heard, immediately after temple bells began ringing. He gave one look at his wife before rising and moving quickly to the door. The towns guard captain was already waiting.  
  
'What is it.'  
  
'Enemies.'  
  
The two almost ran to a staircase leading to one of the towers in the resembling a castle house. Once at the top Karol almost swore, it seemed as if the whole horizon was covered with enemies. In the courtyard of his house his personal guards were assembled and awaited orders, on the city walls he could see men assembling. Remembering his duties Karol began giving orders,  
  
'Call up the city militia. Gather our forces on the city walls. The stockade is to be held only for the time necessary for the lower city to be evacuated, when evacuated burn it. Those not able to fight are to be brought here.'  
  
The captain saluted and was about to leave when the mayor spoke again,  
  
'Ready my armor.'  
  
The captain nodded and left leaving the mayor looking at the dark mass. He heard a distant roar, resembling the sea that he remembered once hearing and the dark mass surged towards the stockade. Sighing he turned to see his wife, concern in her green eyes. Karol sighed again, what was there to say to a woman he was supposed to live with for the rest of his life, though he never saw her before the wedding day. A marriage arranged only to receive the acceptance of the Duke of Gaescoin for the election of a minor noble and ex-adventurer for the mayor of one of the richest cities of the kingdom. Only one thing could be said.  
  
'If things go badly, you know what to do.'  
  
She nodded, once. Stepping towards her he kissed her on the cheek before going to ready for the battle at hand.  
  
Trying to walk as calmly as possible Sig walked through the eastern gate and into the new city, or lower city; neither name was official. Slightly paranoid from his meeting earlier, he tried to keep to the shadows as he walked down the street to the point where he agreed to meet with Anita if they got separated, the "Dancing Orc" inn. After checking if the coast was clear, he moved towards it. The inside was dark and full of smoke. He didn't stop at the entrance, but moved quickly inside. People who stopped at the entrance often became targets of the inn's patrons, as he discovered earlier, loosing their money at the least. So he immediately moved in without stopping and ducked into a dark corner where he began observing the room looking for his partner.  
  
'You're late, I was about to leave without you.'  
  
Sig turned to face the thin woman. Though they were together for a number of months he still couldn't get use to the stealth that Anita displayed. He opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off as she hugged him, temporarily cutting off his air supply. He smiled and hugged her back.  
  
'Settle down, settle down.' – he said in a calming voice before continuing in a whisper,- 'We've got to get out of the city.'  
  
She nodded and taking a step back she said,  
  
'If we hurry we can reach the gate before it closes for the night.'  
  
Before Sig could comment the door opened with a bang and a group of ten men in hoods entered. The two thieves ducked, but not before one of the hooded men shouted,  
  
'That's them.'  
  
Sig heard Anita muttering some curse while she jumped up throwing a knife. One of their assailants yelped as it hit him in the arm. The patrons swearing began jumping out of the way.  
  
'Too many of them to settle with blades,.'  
  
Thought Sig as he jumped up throwing a knife. Thinking quickly he picked up the closest table. Anita seeing what he was doing picked it up from the other end and they rammed it into the group, sending them to the floor. Jumping over them they rushed towards the door with the simple plan of bolting to the gate and away from the city. Anita was about a meter from the door when it was flung open again. Sig went for one of his last throwing knives before stopping as he recognized who stood in the door.  
The guard in the blue and white surcoat of the city guard grasped Anita by the arm and pulled her out while shouting,  
  
'Get out! Move towards the city! Hurry!'  
  
Saying that he ran to the next door. Anita noticed that other guards were banging on doors, ordering the residents behind the walls. Temple bells were ringing. Sig joined her and despite their situation they stood there for a second before they reached a decision and ran to the gate leading into the city.  
  
The stockade was now almost full as the garrison from the new city assembled there. Peter and Andrew stood side by side along with the other members of their unit. A centurion climbed onto the stockade, straightening his conical helmet, the fact that he was busy doing that didn't hinder his shouting abilities one bit.  
  
'Arrows on string! You will withhold from shooting till I give the command!'  
  
In a much lower voice meant only for another centurion he said,  
  
'Maybe they'll parley.'  
  
The mass was now closer, two bow shots from the stockade. The mass stopped and began throwing insults at the men on the walls. Most were definitely human, though there was also a number of Hobgoblins amongst their number. The humans differed amongst themselves as well, from bandits in leather armor with clubs or axes, through mercenaries sporting every armor and weapon known, ending with fur-clad barbarians from the mountains. They also carried crudely made ladders and battering rams. On this warm summer evening many of the city guards felt cold shivers running down their spines.  
Over the assailants jeering the sound of a kettle drum was heard and with a roar the mass surged towards the stockade.  
  
'Archers! Draw strings!'  
  
The order came clean and decurions repeated it down the stockade. Fighting the panic growing in him Peter drew the string of his bow to the ear, letting drill take over any conscious actions. When he was still a boy he would draw the string of his weak bow only to the eye so he could aim towards the target his father had painted on the barn. Later, when he joined the guard he was forced to get rid of the habit and drilled till he always drew it to the ear. Drawing it so far made the bow gain the maximum strength enabling the simple yew bow to punch through link-mail with ease. Though it was harder to aim, you don't really care about that as you rely on the number of arrows that you shoot to down your enemies. Immediately after he drew the string the next order came.  
  
'Loose arrows!'  
  
The air was filled with the hiss of bow strings as the yew boys snapped into their former position propelling 70 cm arrows tipped with long iron warheads towards the attacking mass almost 200 meters away. The first ranks fell with cries of agony as the arrows punched through mail, leather and flesh with equal ease. Immediately after the order to notch was repeated, but before the order to loose came, small bolts propelled from crossbows sailed from the mass tearing defenders off the ramparts. Bolts from heavy crossbows were infamous for punching through steel plates with ease. Besides the wooden stockade in front of them, the mail clad guard was almost defenseless against those missiles. Gritting his teeth Peter tried to ignore the cries of agony, the warm drops splattering his cheek and the gurgling cry of the guard next to him, he concentrated on the foe and on the arrow which he released when ordered to and smiled at the cries of pain coming from the enemy. They managed to release five volleys before the officers who were looking grimly at the mass now only a hundred meters away shouted another order,  
  
'Shoot at will.'  
  
The guards stopped waiting for the order and began firing at their own pace. About fifty meters from the wall bow equipped attackers stopped and began shooting. Most made the mistake of drawing the strings to their eyes and the often badly conserved and flimsy bows didn't have the strength to punch through the mail hauberks the guards wore.  
Peter swore as an arrow grazed the side of his head, only the mail hood saved him from losing an ear. He picked out one of the enemies archers and shot an arrow that hit him in the chest. Peter later swore that he saw the arrow the archer was notching had hit and crippled another attacker.  
Despite the arrows being poured into their ranks, the attackers reached the stockade and began filling the ditch with sticks bonded together with strings, the bodies of the dead were also used and the two meter deep ditch was quickly filled. The ladders were brought forward and the attackers were beginning to crawl onto the rampart. One of them ended up in front of Peter and Andrew. Dropping his bow Andrew pushed it to the ground while Peter continued pouring shots, picking out the teams carrying ladders. Ladders were still thrown against the stockade and Peter was forced to put away his bow, though his attacker was so close that he could only grasp his dagger and try to stab him in what looked like a wrestling match. Peter having such a long training with the bow became quite strong, so he managed to overpower his opponent and pulling his opponents head back he cut his throat. Not wasting time to gloat he hide the dagger, pulled his sword and went to help others. Despite his lack of finesse, his blows were lethal crushing bones and severing limbs. Soon he, like many others was stained red with gore, the rampart looked as if it was painted red and a large number of bodies littered both the rampart, and the bottom of the stockade. The guards decurion smiled as he commented,  
  
'Well done boys, you just survived your baptism as soldiers, the baptism in blood.'  
  
In spite of their situation, the two young guards couldn't help smiling.  
The attackers seemed to be discouraged by the fierce resistance and brief respites in the fighting appeared. Despite the attackers casualties their numbers appeared undiminished, while the lines of defenders were thinning drastically by both the arrows hurled at them and by the combat raging on the stockade. Their decurion gathered some men and began systematically throwing the ladders down, when from one of them a nearly naked barbarian rushed up. Grabbing one of the guards he hurled him screaming from the ramparts, he cut down two others with one swing of his two-handed axe. The decurion delivered a devastating slash downwards. The barbarian's flesh parted in a spray of blood revealing muscles and bone. The barbarian took a step back, snarled and punched the unfortunate decurion in the face splintering the man's nose before crushing his scull with a blow from the axe. The berserker wrenched the axe free and roared in victory, spit and foam flying from his mouth as others began climbing up the ladder and edging away from yelling barbarian began moving towards points where the guards were still resisting, berserkers were also climbing up elsewhere, clearing the stockade for their comrades climbing up unbothered as the guards were busy fending off the barbarians.  
The Berserker's cry of triumph was cut short as two arrows slammed into his body. One crushing the collar bone, the other carving into his chest. Looking with the one good eye the centurion left him as he charged towards the two who shot at him, Andrew and Peter. Andrew dropped his bow and grasping his sword charged as well. He dodged beneath the barbarian's savage blow and stabbed his sword into the gut, twisting it before wrenching it free, pulling out some of the berserker's insides. This finally had some effect on the barbarian as he hit out with the flat of his hand, merely sending Andrew down on the rampart, instead of crushing his scull. Before the berserker did anything else he staggered back as his throat was cut open and wheezed some bloodied bubbles out of his mouth as a sword entered his heart and lungs. The officer that had rushed past Peter during Andrew's attack pressed the shield against the barbarian's dying body and pushed him off his sword, disemboweling another assailant that rushed at him. Peter notched an arrow to assist him, but the officer looked at some point behind him and shouted,  
  
'The gate! The gate!'  
  
Peter along with the other archers nearby looked towards it before turning around and lifting their bows. Someone amongst the attackers decided that it was time to bring down the gate and a battering ram was brought in. Arrows hissed as they pierced the air before hitting those carrying the ram, killing them in an instant. Despite the guards attempts, others jumped forward to lift the ram up and began beating it against the gate. Those that fell were replaced and archers were brought up to cover their action. The sound of horns cut through the sounds of battle, the centurions that could stopped and listened to the sound before shouting,  
  
'Fall back!, Fall back to the city!'  
  
The cry rang out and guards practically jumped off the stockade and began running towards the gates leading into the old city. Peter heard the sound of the battering ram hitting the gate as he ran towards the stone walls. Here and there one could see flames climbing up the wooden buildings of the new city. Though soon he stopped paying attention to his surroundings as he couldn't help thinking about what will happen to him if they break the gate down before he's behind those walls.  
  
Chapter 2 done, First off thanks for the reviews (however few) keep them coming. Second in line a small dictionary to explain some of the words(just to be safe, though D&D players should know some of them); Surcoat: A long, loose flowing cloth worn over armor. Used to display the coat of arms. Conical helmet: A simple helmet protecting the top of the head, often equipped with a nasal. Decurion: A low ranking officer in command of ten men(something like a sergeant) Centurion: Low ranking officer in charge of a hundred men. 


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter III, Red streets.  
  
Immediately after the guards passed, the massive city gates were closed. Being amongst the last it took a while for Peter and Andrew to slow down and come to a halt near barrels of water placed for the defenders. The water was well seen as guards took off their helmets and filling them with water poured it on their faces, washing the sweat, dust and blood of their faces.  
Building up the battered guardsmen morale even more were tankards of strong dwarven ale, no food of course, but dwarfish ale had this special attribute that it gave a sensation of filling the stomach, without the fatal consequences of receiving a gut wound after eating.  
The two young guards were happy to place their tired bulks against the walls drinking their beer and observing other guards taking positions, the priests healing the heavily wounded or shouting words of encouragement. What broke the joy of looking were the civilians. The young guards understood that one should be sad when your homes are burned, but these specific people were actually acting as if it was the guards fault. Presented by rude gestures and even angry curses of which the most mild was, "You bastards had to have a adventure.", the survivors of the stockade battle were first shocked, than angry. Andrew got an urge to spit on the crowd, Peter's fists were starting to itch. Fortunately a centurion shouted,  
  
'Form up in ranks! Attention!'  
  
The guards formed up and stiffened as the mayor came towards the walls flanked by his guard. The mayor gave a standard speech in which he praised the men's valor and combat prowess and of how proud he was of commanding such men. Than he added that though they had already given much they must be ready to give more, as the foes will not leave so easily. Finishing the speech he moved on. New orders came as the guard put on the removed pieces of armor and moved to replenish their supplies of arrows before taking positions on the walls.  
  
- ''  
  
The city was burning, Karol looked at the necessary vandalism with some sadness, his city was burning though with good cause; the flames formed an obstacle that the attackers could not cross, giving the cities forces time to regroup.  
  
'How long will it burn?'  
  
'Into the morning at least.'  
  
An officer replied to the mayor's question, no sooner had the words left his mouth when a cold wind arrived from the north west. It howled over the battlements blinding men for a second. It passed, though the chill did not; the mayor and his officers looked around to see what had happened when one cried out,  
  
'The lake!'  
  
All eyes turned to the lake where the wind seemed to form a cyclone above it touching the water. After a couple of minutes it returned throwing torrents of water on the city. It passed almost immediately leaving drenched citizens behind.  
  
'What the seth was that!?'  
  
'Fething magic, what else could it be!  
  
Two officers exchanged such opinions as they shook water of their composite armor.  
  
'But for what fething purpose?'  
  
'That.'  
  
The fire that had begun to consume the new city was extinguished, only  
smoke remained and empty streets quickly filling with the dark masses  
of attackers.  
  
'Sacred seth.'  
  
These were the only words uttered.  
  
''  
  
'What do you think is going on?'  
  
Sig scratched his chin for a second before replying,  
  
'I think the guards got licked and fell back.'  
  
Though for some this would have been obvious being in the middle of a throng of civilians it gets hard to see such things, or anything else for that matter. The two thieves found themselves stuck between a wagon filled with sacks and a number of cages in which squawking birds sat. Sig didn't know whether to be happy or mad with the situation they were in. The attack had caused enough chaos for the duo to escape the attention of the thieves guild who no doubt now had more pressing matters on their minds. Except Sig wasn't stupid and saw the very real danger that followed the attack. He was thinking the matter over when he saw something interesting; a purse belonging to a nearby person with his back towards the thieve. With one swift movement the purse changed owners. "Even during a siege one should think of business." thought Sig.  
  
-   
  
The city guard amassed on the walls, wet bow strings replaced with dry ones, and drew the strings to the ear as they awaited the attack, only it didn't come. The mass had stopped on the edge of the new city where there was a hundred meter empty zone. Though it appeared only a small part of the force that was assigned to keep an eye on the cities garrison, a large number of torches had been moving around the city for the last hour.  
  
'What in the name of seven hells are they doing?'  
  
Andrew asked no one in particular, though Peter heard it and replied,  
  
'Fethed if I know.'  
  
Further along the walls Karol and his staff observed the movement, and were likewise puzzled.  
  
'What do you think they're doing?'  
  
'Who knows, maybe some sort of ritual.'  
  
'If so, it's like none I've ever seen.'- Karol stated as he peered through the darkness,- 'I believe they are...'  
  
He couldn't go further as the mass surged towards the walls with a cry, the torches currently running around the city joined those heading towards the walls.  
  
'Archers! Loose arrows!'  
  
Karol shouted and air was filled with the hiss of arrows once more.  
  
''  
  
'Have you found it?'  
  
'No my lord.'  
  
The dark armored being sitting on a destrier seemed nothing more than a hairy bundle as his fur covered cape almost completely covered him. Despite his somewhat un-serious look, all the soldiers surrounding him kept a distance, and carried out every order given to them. The rider looked at the city walls and said nothing, the soldier that gave the report did not see the gaze and felt a shiver down his spine, what if he was mad at him? What if.... He was pulled out of his grim thoughts as the rider pointed at the walls and said two words,  
  
'Kill them.'  
  
The officer bowed and shut the face plate of his basinet before going to carry out his lord's instructions. The rider looked as his army rushed at the walls, he cared little for those that fell, what were the lives of men compared to his goal?  
  
''  
  
'Wait for my order!'  
  
Arrows hissed through the air, dying men screamed in agony and despite that the order was heard over the sounds of battle. The attackers had reached the base of the moat and were filling it up. Already in some places they were bringing the ladders up and throwing them on the ramparts.  
  
'Now!'  
  
Teams of two guards lifted cauldrons and poured its contents down. Those hit screamed in agony, melted tar is not a pleasant thing to be covered in.  
  
'Ignite!... Loose!'  
  
Flaming arrows sailed downwards igniting the tar, burning figures ran screaming sowing panic in their ranks as men tried to push out of the way only to meet a solid mass of bodies. Despite the tactic the assailants pressed forward throwing siege ladders up and began forcing their way up. The gates of course became the main targets and as such the most archers were assigned to protect them. A death zone was established, as even shield walls turned out to be too weak to hold against the arrow storm falling down. However, the attackers found a way to counter this. A blast of light tore some archers off the tower flanking the main gate a moment before a second flash turned the draw bridge to cinders, The force attacking the city reminded the defenders that they possessed mages. Though magic proved little use against the gate itself, protective runes were stamped into the iron strengthening it. Apart from that clerics appeared on the walls bringing there god's grace on the defenders, doing their best to counter the magic used. Though now that a gate had been weakened the attackers pressed their advantage filling the moat, mostly with the bodies of the fallen, and brought up a ram and began to systematically pound at the gates. Peter and Andrew found themselves in one of the calmer areas of the wall, they rained arrows at the mass, suffering almost no casualties as the main fighting was waged near the gates. The state of semi-calm was soon ended. The decurion that had replaced the one fallen from the hands of the berserker walked along the wall gathering his men and leading them to a different theatre, the gate attacked with magic to be exact. Here they filled a gape in the walls. The arrows being shot here by the attackers were almost as intense as those shot by the defenders. From their position the two guards could hear the rhythmic thuds of the ram smashing the gate, on the inside spear and shield wielding guards were getting ready to meet the attackers once they broke through. The gate opened with a crack and the horde rushed in with a snarl. The spearmen were ready for them, with thrusts they impaled attackers on their spears, the second ranks thrusting their spears from behind the first rank to give those in front time to push the bodies off their shafts. The attackers found a way to battle this as well, berserkers came through the gate and paying no attention to the spears thrust into their bodies and threw guards aside with sweeps of their weapons, smashing armor and bones with equal ease. Another unit of guard was running to the gate, but judging from the speed the berserkers were dispatching off their opponents they would be too late to stop the horde from entering the city. The decurion also noticed this.  
  
'Swords!'  
  
'He is planning to do what I think he is?', asked Andrew as he drew his sword and his suspicion was soon proved right.  
  
'Charge!'  
  
Bellowing like mad twenty guards rushed from the walls against about a dozen berserkers, hardly favorable odds for the city guard. Blood stained the stones as the berserkers continued to cut down their opponents. Though they did begin to slow down as their rage passed, they were still dangerous. Peter failed to dodge a blow that sent him sprawling to the ground, fortunately it was the flat of the blade that hit the guard, though the blow was strong enough to daze him, blood filled his mouth and trickled from his nose, his teeth felt loose and he hardly saw the berserker raise its two handed sword to finish him off. His wits returned after a few moments and wondering why he wasn't dead he shook the stars away and looked around. "His" berserker was dead, a guard pulling his spear out of the barbarian's throat, and a group of spearmen had filled the gateway holding the attackers off. A cleric walked up to him,  
  
'Are you wounded?'  
  
Peter shook his head instead, as he was still somewhat dazed. The  
armored cleric pulled the guard to his feet before saying,  
  
'Than join the defenses and may Torm help you.'  
  
''  
  
The moon reached its zenith and yet its light was pale compared to that thrown by the flames rising from the base of the walls of Saltmain. Due to the obstacle, the attackers placed most of their attacks on the gates. Bearing in battering rams they pounded continuously, slowly yet steadily breaking them down. Where the gate had already been taken down a continues flow of humanoids pressed at the defenders. Arrows filled the air with a rain of death. The siege had turned into a war of attrition, both sides were trying to kill enough of the enemy to force a retreat. Here the attackers had an easier job as their numbers allowed them to soak up casualties, but the defenders had already used up most of their reserves. From his vantage point Karol Gryfline looked as another gate fell and the horde rushed in encountering a thin line of guard. He still saw himself somewhat lucky; the enemies magic users appeared to disappear and the flames at the base of the walls stopped scaling them.  
  
'What reserves have we got?'  
  
'Fifty city guards and your personal guard.'  
  
The mayor didn't answer immediately, he stood on the tower of his home looking at the fight. Altogether he had a hundred men in reserve, but how many at the gates was anybody's guess.  
  
'Send the city guard to that gate, dispatch four decurions of my guard to strengthen those fighting, one to each gate.'  
  
The orders were received and sent, soon one could hear the thump of feet as the assigned soldiers rushed to their positions. A half hour passed when it happened, a messenger arrived with news that the men defending the Banker's gate were on the verge of breaking. The mayor slammed his visor down before turning to the others.  
  
'Sirs, it is time to show that we are not only officers, but soldiers as well. To the gate!'  
  
Silently they followed their leader to their destiny.  
  
''  
  
Peter barely stopped the attacker's blow, his whole arm went numb at the devastating strength of it. If he would have been alone, he would have been killed not being able to stop the next blow. Fortunately for him he wasn't. A guard slashed the opponent across the chest, above the front plate of the mirror armor worn by the now dying man. There was no time to thank him, as a spear was thrust punching through the mail covering the throat. Peter rewarded the spear wielder with a blow to the groin, sending him to the ground before dispatching him. How long had he been fighting; it seemed like eternity, though his reason claimed it was hours. Happy for a moment's respite he leaned against the wall breathing hard, wondering if these bastards would ever run out of men. And where in the seven hells was Andrew? No answer came to his questions, only a new wave of attackers that rammed into the guards like a storm, many sent to the ground by the force of the impact. Peter readied himself for the fight, though he wasn't ready for what actually came. Up to this moment the attackers came in a mob, relying on their numbers to break through, now they marched through the gate in disciplined ranks, shields forming a wall as they steadily closed in on the guard. Something else made this group stand out amongst the hoard. Every one of them had an identical symbol on their shields, a black hand. The same hand was presented on the a banner of red. Except for some of the clerics none knew what the symbol meant, yet all were afraid of it, those few that recognized the symbol more than any. With a roar the armored attackers launched themselves at those that had so far held up there numerous attacks. The first to die were two guards that stood in their spots, thrown to the ground by the charging host momentum and trampled under their iron shod boots. Decurions bellowed frantic orders, though none listened, they simply stood watching as the armored attackers hacked down any who were in their way. A sharp hiss was heard and bolts slammed into the first rank, a few falling presenting holes in the shield wall, another volley of bolts punched into these gaps bringing down more attackers. Peter looked back and immediately forgot the sense of doom that had overtaken him, as a group of the mayor's guard, retired mercenaries with at least a decade of combat experience dropped their crossbows and drawing swords ran to join the fray. A swirling melee followed, bones snapped under vicious slashes, the plate armor could withhold the damage, but the bones beneath could not. Foes appeared on the walls and the press in the gate grew too great even for the mayors guard, they broke ranks and began to fall back, and then ran. They didn't run far as more reinforcements arrived, the mayor and the rest of his guard.  
  
'To the sides! To the sides!'  
  
An order was shouted and they followed it, a volley of bolts tore into those going through the gate, and another, and another. The archers added their shots to the volley, forcing the attackers to advance cautiously under the protection of pavises and other large shields, yet advance they did.  
  
'Defenders of Saltmain! Forward!'  
  
Yelling like mad the mayor attacked, followed closely by his guard, other defenders joined the attack. The hoard broke ranks and charged forward, meeting the defenders head on under the statue of the cities founder. The mayor was a sight to see, no armor protected from the blows of his sword forged by elves in the distant past. Plates of steel parted as if it was leather; soon the mayor was covered in gore as no man nor humanoid could stand in his path. His guard fought just as hard trying to keep up with their paymaster, the citizen levy and city guard fighting harder than ever under their mayor's influence. For a few minutes it looked as if they could win, the attackers started to fall back. Through the gate a new man appeared, astride a destrier appearing to be a mass of fur- the leader of the hoard arrived. The attackers stopped falling back and stood their ground. The rider dismounted and cast aside his cloak, revealing massive plate armor. His head was covered in a great helm. He drew his sword, a massive blade with ancient runes beaten into it. He strode confidently to where the fighting was the fiercest, his armored servants stepping out of the way and keeping the defenders back. Karol Grifline suddenly found himself alone standing in front of the attackers leader, his men held off by the cities attackers. The mayor returned a salute received from his anonymous opponent and charged but his blow was blocked, his opponent hitting him with a fist sending the mayor back a few staggered steps. Karol lifted his shield to stop a blow and looked with fearful awe as his opponents blade slashed through the shield with ease. Another blow came, Karol blocking it with his sword, a light burst forth blinding many as the two ancient blades hit each other and then the light stopped, the mayor's sword fell to the ground, shattered to pieces. Apparently the magic in his opponent's sword was stronger than in his. He did not get any more time, an armored fist grasped him around his mail clad throat. Karol grabbed the hand with his left and tried to tear the fingers off his throat, he could have equally well tried to tear a star from the heavens. His right hand went for his dagger, he even laid his hand on the hilt when his eyes dimmed and he coughed huge quantities of blood, the sword of his opponent went cleanly through his chest plate and through his heart and lungs. Lifted high Karol tried to catch even a mouthful of air before he passed into darkness. His slayer stood holding the body high for all to see, before tossing the corpse into the defenders ranks. For a second nothing happened, and then the defenders broke ranks and ran for the final time in this battle.  
  
'Kill them! Kill them all!'  
  
The now victories leader of the attackers shouted, his men did not need to be told twice.  
  
''  
  
The streets ran red, stained with the life source of many. Many civilians that did not listen to orders and stayed in their own homes were soon dead. Those that did not die were running to the area were they were instructed to go before, blocking the streets and making it impossible for the city guard to regroup. Many people were crushed to death under the feet of others. Screams filled the air, buildings caught fire and the civilians in their panic saw enemies everywhere, which in fact was not far from the truth. The priests of Helm ran around the temple gathering artifacts, the enemy had entered the city. The last objects were hidden. Each of the all-seeing god's servants carried a bag filled with the most important artifacts and of course large quantities of money. They entered the streets, armored clerics pushing aside the residents of the city, they were trying to force their way out of the city, but in vain. With howls the attackers poured out of the alleys, attacking the priests and the civilians. The clerics put up a fight, but they were not soldiers, soon they lay dead, their treasures besides them and their killers went in search of new prey.  
  
- ''  
  
Sig was choking, in the mass of people he found it extremely hard to breath, also he couldn't move as he was carried by the mass. All he felt under his feet were bodies. All he could do was to try to force some space for himself and not getting separated from Anita, something that under the circumstances required inhuman strength from the both of them. Sig cursed his foul luck, a few days ago they came to a rich city planning to fix their financial situation and all of a sudden they were in a middle of a besieged city whose defenses have fallen. Proof of this soon appeared, as a band of the attackers appeared and proceeded to cut through the mass of civilians. Sig watched as the attackers came closer, at the swords rising and falling followed with trails of blood, at the screaming forms soon silenced. The mass around him grew thinner, thin enough for him to grasp the hilt of his dagger and he watched one specific bandit as he moved closer and more specifically at his sword hand. With one quick movement he grabbed his target's arm and pulling himself out of the crowd stabbed into his opponent's chest and drew the blade downwards widening the wound. The man fell with a surprised look on his face. Taking the short sword he blocked a blow and delivered his own, stabbing into the side of his foe's neck and pulling the blade towards him, tearing out the throat. He moved to dodge another blow, but slipped on the ever growing puddles of blood and hit his head on the street hard. He saw white, red and black before he regained his sight, he was very surprised to be still alive. He was more surprised when somebody began to lift him up and only relaxed slightly when he realized it was Anita. Once he was on his feet (though still supported) he looked around and saw why he was still alive. One of the attackers lay a few feet away with one of Anita's knives in his throat, the rest were being dispatched by armored men in the blue and white of Saltmain. For the first time in his life Sig was glad to see representatives of the law.  
  
- ''  
  
Peter followed his "unit" through the burning streets. Now that the city had fallen everybody was falling back to the late mayors home as ordered, only the civilians were blocking the way. So Peter along with five guards and seven members of the city levy moved through alleys fighting of smaller bands and running from big ones always heading towards the castle like building that belonged to the mayor. Entering one of the streets they heard screams clearer than before, a group of the attackers were currently slaughtering a throng of civilians. The members of the city guard being mostly residents of the towns and villages surrounding the city would have probably tried to move past but the city levy, being residents of the city fearing that their loved ones were amongst that group threw themselves at the attackers, the city guard willingly or not followed, Peter amongst them. At first they were unnoticed as the attackers were paying attention to one of the civilians that was putting up a fight, half of their number fell before they even noticed the soldiers at their backs. Soon they were dead. Peter breathed hard, he and the other guards stood for a second catching their breath. The city levy ran amongst the dead looking in fear of finding someone they knew. Peter looked at the two civilians that had participated in the fight, a girl almost completely lacking a feminine figure and a man with a canny look to him. Both dressed in black close fitting clothes and hoods, the only way for it to be more obvious what there profession was would be both of them having a sign labeled "Thieves" on their chests. Under normal circumstances Peter would have arrested them just to be safe, but these were not normal circumstances.  
  
'Are you all right?'  
  
The guard asked the male thief,  
  
'I'm fine.'  
  
Came the reply. Any further discussions were halted. One of the militia grasping the form of a woman, or maybe a girl it was hard to see as the body was practically unrecognizable, though it appeared recognizable enough for him. Despite the surrounding cacophony his cries seemed louder than any noises of the dying city.  
  
'Shut up! You want every one of those bastards on us?'  
  
Other militia moved and tried to calm their comrade in arms, without  
much success. One of the guards stepped up to the man and delivered a heavy blow to the side of the head, which seemed to bring the man to his senses, instead of howling he began to mutter some prayers.  
  
'Get him up, we have to reach the mayors place before...'  
  
The decurion stopped as a single blast of a horn was heard,  
  
'Feth it! Were too late!'  
  
To make matters worse the noise of many iron shod boots were heard coming up the street. The decurion stopped swearing and shouted an order,  
  
'Move!'  
  
'Where to?'  
  
The decurion stopped, where to? A calm voice gave a suggestion,  
  
'To the lake.'  
  
The guard previously being comforted stood up and tried to wipe the tears of his face and succeeded in covering it in blood before continuing.  
  
'We can go to the lake, boats should be there.'  
  
For a second nobody said anything, until the decurion decided, "To the lake" and the guards, militia and two thieves ran towards the lake, though Sig came last. He was still somewhat dazed and moved slower. His eyes were on the street as he tried not to fall over the bodies when something caught his interest, gold. Some had slipped out of a travelers bag lying next to an armored body. Sig scooped up the bag, jugging from the weight and shape of the bag their were other things in it besides coins. Deciding it would be better to sort out the contents latter he hurried up and caught up with his group.  
  
''  
  
The gate leading towards the courtyard of the mayors estate was closed and locked, the centurion reported this to the new leader of the garrison, the mayors wife. She nodded and gave an order,  
  
'Get the survivors from the city to the catacombs.'  
  
The order was swiftly carried out and soon woman, children and the surviving guards were moving through the mortal remains of the cities rulers to a point were the former wife of the mayor revealed a secret passage. Built by the cities founder near five hundred years ago it was meant as a way for the ruler to escape if the city should fall. It lead under the lake to the other side were a secret stable was kept, a perfect escape route should anyone wish to leave the city unseen. For the first time since the cities founding it was used.  
  
''  
  
This was definitely not Andrews day and he cursed every minute of it. He stood with a liberated shield waiting for the attackers to break down the temple door. He and about seventeen other guards and three clerics were the only ones fit for fighting amongst the numerous people who sought safety inside the temple of Torm. With a crack the doors were beaten down and the attackers poured in, met head on by the few guards. A short and brutal fight followed, Andrew cut the first attacker across the leather covered chest, blocked a blow with his shield and slashed upwards, splitting a hobgoblin from the groin upwards. A spear punched through his hauberk into his thigh. He struck back sending the spear wielding attacker back, blood spewing from his opened throat. Another blow sent his shield to the side, he couldn't bloke the next blow. An axe punched through his mail into his stomach. The force of the blow made him bend over, he barely saw the blow of the mace that sent him flying backwards. When he slammed into the floor he merely gazed at the ceiling with unseeing eyes and listened to the screams with unhearing ears.  
  
''  
  
'Have you found it?'  
  
'No my lord, though we are still looking.'  
  
'It might not be in the city.'  
  
The hoards leader turned and glared at the one that had spoken. A thin, regular lined face along with almond shaped eyes and slightly pointed ears betrayed the elven blood in him, though his body build, height and the stubble proved him to be of mixed blood.  
  
'You suggest that I made about the location?'  
  
The half elf palled slightly but answered confidently,  
  
'I meant to say that it might have been carried out, some people escaped across the lake, while the mayors residence was completely empty though shut from within.'  
  
Silence fell as nobody dared speak, finally the armored leader barked  
out,  
  
'Ragnar!'  
  
One of the barbarians, wearing the pelt of a snow wolf like a cape  
snapped to attention,  
  
'My Lord?'  
  
Gather your riders, hunt down those that escaped. Do not dare show  
yourself without the helmet.'  
  
The barbarian bowed and left. The leader of the hoard looked around at  
his officers.  
  
'What are you waiting for? Search the city!'  
  
They bowed and went to carry out their lords command, the half elf  
amongst the first. None wished to risk Velgath's anger .  
  
''  
  
Once again a dictionary; Composite Armor: Mail armor with a small amount of plates usually covering the chest, lower arms and shins. Destrier: A horse specially bred for military purpose. Strong enough to easily carry a armored man, hardy enough to survive situations that would kill a Arab (the horse not the human, though maybe the human as well ;)) and though not a racehorse, quit fast. Mirror armor: Four metal plates forming decent protection for the chest, back and the sides. Often combined with a mail shirt. Popular in eastern civilizations. 


End file.
